


Come What May

by Gidgit2u



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death (not major), F/M, First Christmas, Friends to more, Grief, M/M, Other, Portkey office confessions, Post War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gidgit2u/pseuds/Gidgit2u
Summary: Hermione is heading to Australia to hopefully reverse the spell she cast on her parents memories and spend Christmas together.  Not only does she have the stress of that resting on her shoulders, she’s also noticing Harry in a different light. As she heads Down Under, will her dreams of spending it with her parents be realised, and will she finally figure out her feelings toward Harry?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 74
Collections: Harmony Advent Collection 2019





	Come What May

“Why do you have to go now?”

“Because Ronald, it’s almost Christmas! I’ve put it off far too long and what if... what if the spell can’t be reversed?”

“All the more reason to wait until the New Year.” 

Ron’s shoulders were slouched, his toe absently rubbing against the edge of the area rug that covered most of the living room’s wood floor. He’d been sullen since arriving with Harry and Ginny. 

It had been almost two months since Hermione and he had ended things. To throw in the towel of their ill-conceived romance. Ron was taking their uncoupling the hardest. Surprising, as he’d been the one to start the conversation.

The two months since had been a tap-dance of hurt feelings, awkward hugs, and too bright smiles as they re-established their previous friendship.

Hermione’s nerves were already frazzled, and Ron’s behaviour as she raced around packing was scratching the last one raw. She didn’t want a row right before she portkeyed. 

“I’m just saying, it’s not like a few more months of waiting—”

“What do you need from the loo, Hermione?” Ginny interrupted. She sent a pointed glare her brother's way as she passed him on her way to the flats tiny washroom.

“Anything that’s not bolted down!”

“Righto.” Came the answer from down the hall.

“Ron, why don’t you go grab some food? There’s that takeaway place that makes those meat pies you fancy across the park.” Harry ran his hand through his hair, it’s already dishevelled state made more so by his fingers. Hermione saw Harry reach into his pocket and subtly pass Ron some pound notes.

Ron’s ears turned pink as he rose, grabbing his jumper and scarf. Hermione exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding as the door closed behind him.

“Merlin knows I love him, but does he have to be such a git about this?”

“I’ve been asking that question since I could talk.” Ginny came out of the loo carrying a basket filled to the brim with all of Hermione’s toiletries, towels, and other miscellaneous items. “Why is my brother a prat?”

“Which one?” quipped Harry, and Hermione felt a smile rise to her lips. 

Smiles had been scarce lately, with the stress of going to Australia. With the stress of what she’d find there.

“Thanks Gin!” Hermione took and shrunk the basket and its contents down before placing them inside her beaded bag. 

“That’s everything,” Hermione said, her eyes running over the austere space while her brain flipped through her to-do list.

“When do you need to leave for the portkey office?” Ginny asked, flopping down on the sofa.

“In just under two hours.” Hermione said, turning around as the door opened and Ron entered. Takeaway bags from the pub across the park filled his arms; his hair, eyelashes and shoulders covered in a dusting of snow.

“Here, let me grab those,” Hermione said, taking the bags from Ron as he gave his head a shake. 

“Thanks Hermione!” He threw an arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze.

“I’m sorry about before.” He murmured, helping her unpack container boxes from the bags at the dining table. 

“It’s not an excuse. I know that. I’m just, I’m having a hard time with everything lately. With all the changes. With everything since the war.”

“I know Ron.” Hermione’s voice was gentle. “I’ve also known you for ages and know your coping mechanisms.” She smiled to temper the truth, that in times of trouble he lashed out first before coming round.

“I’ll miss you, Hermione. But for what it’s worth, I’m behind you in this, and hope that, well, you know... that your parents can be your parents again!”

“Thanks Ron. I appreciate knowing I don’t have a row to look forward to coming home.”

“Do you know how long you’ll be gone?”

“No clue. As long as I can be, as long as it takes, I guess. I’ve taken a leave at work... not that they’ll notice.”

“Oy! You two! Less talking, more feeding!” 

“Coming my queen.” Said Hermione.

“Why’s she your queen?” Asked Harry, taking a container from Hermione with a small grin. 

Their fingers touched, and the jolt she felt shocked Hermione. Looking at Harry, she noticed him staring at her before quickly glancing away.

“Well, with Ron named the Weasley king, it was only fitting the female Weasley be donned the title of Queen.”

“I am quite regal.” Ginny said, her mouth stuffed full of cottage pie.

“Charming Gin.” Hermione said as they all laughed.

A sharp pang hit her her chest as she realized how much she’d miss these three. That they’d be celebrating Christmas without her. 

On the other side of the world.

Hopefully she’d be celebrating with her parents and not drowning in memories and cheap muggle beer instead as they wandered through life unaware of her existence.

HGHPHGHPHGHPHGHP

Hermione had moved into the flat in the fall after the war, following a rocky summer at the Burrow. Between Fred’s loss weighing heavily on the family, the absence of her own parents—and the chance their absence would be permanent—and the bumps, stalls and setbacks of navigating a relationship with a best friend-turned-other under his own parent’s roof… Well, Hermione had felt it best that she find her own place. 

Fleur had been her biggest supporter; Harry her second. 

It was the best decision she’d ever made.

“I’ve never lived on my own,” she’d mumbled, the night she’d broached the topic with Harry and Ron. “I’ve gone from my parents, to Hogwarts, to yours Ron… without ever knowing how I would like my own home to be… without figuring out how to navigate, well, being on my own.”

“Are you saying you want a break?” Ron had asked. Hermione had caught Harry rolling his eyes. 

“Nooooo…” Hermione had said. “I never said that. I said, I’ve never lived on my own. Never really even been on my own, not since before Hogwarts first term. Never as an adult. I just spent the last sodding year trapped in a tent with you two. No privacy, no place to just be… me.”

‘I can’t just walk around in my underwear or even naked if I feel like it. Or leave my bra on the chair, or my hair in the drain without having to clean it each time…’ Hermione had thought.

“And you can’t do that here.” Statement, not a question. The tone had said it all. He didn’t understand and wasn’t willing to try.

“Mate, even I can’t do that here, and I’m a bloke.” Harry had broken in then, to Hermione’s relief. She’d been about to either pounce across the table and throttle Ron, or else run screaming from the house in frustration. From Harry’s look, it had seemed he understood a bit where she was coming from. “It’s why I have Kreacher and Winky helping me restore Grimmauld Place. Why I stay there most of the time.” 

Ron had snorted. “You’re also keen to avoid Ginny.” 

He’d flashed a smile that had turned slightly sour at being caught once again between his best friend and sister.

“You know it was for the best.” Harry had whispered quietly. He’d fidgeted with his mug of tea, running his fingers along the cracks time had worn into the porcelain. “She wasn’t happy Ron. Fuck, I wasn’t happy. We were… we were trying to build a future on a dream we’d both awoken from. You can’t build something where the ground’s been washed away.”

They’d been silent while they’d all processed Harry’s surprising insight. 

“No more teaspoon,” Ron had murmured with a smirk, and the three had laughed, the tension broken.

“Ron, neither of us come from a family like yours,” Hermione had said gently. “It’s overwhelming. I mean, I love being here, and, wish I could be alone. Does that make any sense to you?”

“You stayed with us this long over the summer before fifth year,” Ron had said, his eyes pleading with her to reassess. Hermione had shaken her head.

“I was still underage. It was here or the muggle world and I wanted to be with you and Harry. No matter what. It was… it was a hard summer for me Ron. Don’t you remember?”

Ron had nodded, and Harry had looked puzzled. He still hadn’t been told about that summer, not really. Not in full.

“So do you understand why I need my own space? Why even though I love being here, being with your family, I need time to regroup on my own?”

“Well, yeah, I mean… I know what it’s like to not feel seen here, to feel lost among the crowd…” Ron had muttered, and Hermione had reached across the table for his hand. 

She’d noticed a slight tightening of Harry’s lips as their fingers entwined, but had chalked it up to his breakup with Ginny the previous month. She knew he grew awkward around displays of affection. 

“I just don’t want to lose you. Not after everything.” Ron murmured.

“Ron, I’m not a possession you can lose or keep. We’ve decided to see if there was something more between us, yes, but it doesn’t mean you have control over me.”

“I know, I’m just scared. I know I can be a prat sometimes… I don’t want having space make you realize you’re better off without me.”

“I’m going to…” Harry had said, rising from his chair. His face was oddly red, Hermione had noticed.

“No! I’m sorry, Harry. Please sit.” 

Letting go of Ron’s hand, Hermione had abandoned any talk of her and Ron, and had continued to outline her plans for flat hunting. It wasn’t long after that evening’s conversation that she’d found a place, a sublet in a converted muggle rowhouse. Her flat was situated on the second level of a three-storey walkup, was a decent size for her and Crookshanks and was just down the street from Wilmington square and a few shoppes.

Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Dean had helped her move in. 

As it was in a muggle house in a muggle neighbourhood, magic was only allowed once inside with her door closed. Harry and Dean were used to doing things in muggle fashion and hadn’t blinked an eye as the moving truck had pulled up in front of the rowhouse. 

Ginny and Ron, however, were gobsmacked that they had to manually carry everything up two flights of stairs. Luna was her regular self, taking everything in stride with whimsy. 

It had taken Dean flirting with Ginny and Harry, making a bet with Ron for them to be distracted enough for the move to go well. 

“Are Ginny and Dean now a thing?” Hermione had asked Harry as he’d brought a box into her new bedroom. 

“Sort of? I guess they’ve been seeing each other casually the past month. Found out today from Ron.”

Hermione had squinted at him, trying to decide if he was up to talking about it when he’d surprised her by talking first.

“I’m not really surprised, nor cut up about it, really. To be honest, I’m relieved.” Harry had said, leaning against the wall facing where Hermione sat on her unmade bed. His body had began to fill out from their months of near starvation, and Hermione had realised that this was the first time she’d truly ‘looked’ at Harry since their time at Hogwarts. 

The first time she had noticed how fit he’d become. 

Or had she always thought that about him, and not really taken notice because of Ron?

“Why relieved,” she had asked, her words coming out huskier than she’d meant them to.

“Well...” Harry has looked slightly nervous, but before he could continue, Luna and Ron had entered the flat. Their conversation had been ludicrous, and everything Hermione had needed in that moment. 

She’d felt flustered as she’d realized where her thoughts had taken her, so she’d slipped past Harry with a “we’ll finish this chat later.”

As days had turned to weeks and weeks into months, however, that chat ws never brought up again.

Instead, over the months, Ron had become increasingly distant as he’d grappled with his grief over Fred, and his self-doubts about being an Auror. He’d seemed happier when he’d decided to help George rebuild the shop instead of joining the Auror department; however, even that flicker of light had been tamped down fast.

No matter how Hermione had tried to be there for him, it never had seemed enough. Not even losing himself in her had made more than a slight thaw in the walls he’d built around himself. 

For Hermione, she’d been dealing with her own imposter syndrome in her role at the Ministry. Despite the war being won, evil slain and all that, there was still prejudice and bigotry entrenched within the Ministries walls and members of staff.

Each day she had steeled herself to return, and each day she met for lunch with Harry at a bistro around the corner from the Ministry building ready to quit. Ensconced in the safety of anonymity in Muggle London, they’d swapped stories of their days. Of their challenges both in having blood less than pure— “That’s ridiculous! You’re the whole reason these bloody tossers have jobs and are free!” Hermione had raged—and at how quickly they were becoming disillusioned now that they were adults in the Wizarding world. Not doe-eyed children fed fanciful illusions of equality and grandeur.

She’d invited Ron, Harry had invited Ron. He’d only shown up for one, pissed out of his mind, smelling like Ogdens, and rambling about how life wasn’t fair and what were they doing meeting without him. 

Harry had helped him back to George’s flat, where it had been obvious Ron’s drinking had originated. Harry had had to levitate both Weasleys into their beds—Ron had passed out upon landing from apparition—and had ensured they both had water at their bedside before returning to where he’d left Hermione.

“Memory rampage,” Harry had said by way of explanation, and that had been the last time lunch had been mentioned to Ron.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t tried, her and Ron. They’d gone on two dates, both awkward as Hades as they’d tried to bridge the obvious distance growing between them. They’d thrown themselves fervently together, fumbling in their attempts of slight comforts from each other’s bodies, with most of the time one or the other left with a feeling of letdown. 

It wasn’t their fault. Chemistry, history, and ultimately the distance of grief and expectations and just... everything.... it was too much.

Ron had begun the conversation, and Hermione had finished it. 

They’d parted as amicably as one could after seeing the other in nothing but a smile, but it had taken weeks to rebuild even a semblance of normalcy between them.

Hermione hadn’t realised how near Grimmauld Place was to her new flat. She’d been surprised, and very pleased. She’d wanted her own space, yes, but it relieved her to have the comfort of Harry nearby.

To not be completely alone in the vast city of London. 

The day she’d shown up on Harry’s doorstep with takeaway curry after an especially hard day at the Ministry had begun a Thursday night tradition of exploring the areas of Muggle London around them. They’d discuss everything and anything, before returning to one of theirs for tea. It was peaceful, nice even, to get together without it becoming some grand event. Without it having to be a ‘thing.’

Now, barely four months later, Hermione was off to retrieve her parents. Hopefully.

And leaving the wizard behind who occupied most her thoughts.

HGHPHGHPHGHPHGHP

“Good day. Five galleons, eleven sickles please.” The nasal voice commanded. Hermione handed over the portkey amount to the goblin teller and received a battered teapot in return.

“International travellers proceed to the right. Fourth bench down, second hallway. Move along now. Good day.” 

Hermione had dressed in layers, knowing she’d be leaving one climate and arriving in one drastically different. Though she could technically transfigure her clothing to be anything she needed, her nerves were such that she didn’t want to have to focus on more than what was necessary.

Sitting down on a worn bench that looked ready to topple over at any moment, Hermione began going through her mental lists again. Of what she needed to do upon arrival, where to begin her search... her lists were endless.

“Excuse me, miss, do you know how to get to Australia?”

Hermione turned and felt her heart slam against her ribcage.

She’d know those eyes and voice anywhere, even disguised as he was.

“Harry!” She lunged and wrapped her arms around him before pulling back and sitting down quickly.

“What are you doing here?! And why are you looking—” she waved her hand up and down "—like that?!”

Harry slid down beside her, his thigh resting against hers on the cramped bench. 

“Well, you spent Christmas with me last year, while I went looking for my parents.” He was staring at her fully, his eyes warm and a smile dancing along his lips. 

He held up a ticket, showing he was to use the same teapot Hermione held.

“And I thought, fair is fair.”

“This is completely different—“ Hermione began, flustered.

“Friend in crisis, alone at Christmas, needing to reconnect with family.” Harry said, shrugging, “Not so different to me.”

“And what crisis am I in?” Hermione asked, 

“The crisis of believing in yourself.” Harry said simply, and with that he took a swig from a flash he had tucked away in his coat pocket.

“Ugh, this stuff is vile.” Harry said, and Hermione giggled.

“You didn’t taste vile,” she said, then blushed throughly when she realised how that sounded.

Harry’s face flushed at her comment, though he didn’t seem offended or awkward in the least. 

In fact, his face split into a wide, cheeky grin.

“Apparently memorable too,” he said, nudging her shoulder, causing her to blush even further.

“Right. Well... anyway, who are you meant to be?” Hermione said, purposefully not looking at him. 

“Some muggle from the village down from the Burrow.” Said Harry, then leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Hermione.”

She looked up into those piercing green eyes and felt herself fall. 

Feelings she’d repressed since fourth year, early bubbles of a truncated crush, memories of nights spent huddled together for warmth in a tent, miles from anyone as they both pretended not to notice his physical reaction to their proximity... how she hadn’t actually minded... it all swirled in her mind as she stared into the eyes of the wizard she knew she loved, she’d just never realised how, and in what way.

‘Merlin but I’m hopeless at this,’ she thought.

“You didn’t,” she whispered, “I’m just... not feeling myself at the moment.”

It was true; she wasn’t. Between nerves and the realisation of her true feelings for the man beside her, she felt as if she’d inhabited another being entirely.

“Then I’m doubly glad I’m here. I’ve got you Hermione.” Harry said and slid his arm around her tense shoulders.

“This ok?” He asked softly. 

Instead of answering, Hermione let herself soften into his side, her head coming to rest slightly against his chest. It was nice, not having to be the strong one all the time.

“I can hear your heart.” She said absently.

“If I didn’t have my shirt on and wearing another man’s skin, you’d also be feeling the scar I received in the forest.” Harry murmured, his fingers absently playing with her hair. 

As Hermione moved to sit up, Harry guided her back to his chest, murmuring, “I’ll show you and we’ll talk about it later. Promise. Forget I said anything for now.”

“Do the Weasleys know? That you’re, that you’re coming with me?” Hermione asked.

Visions of Ginny and Ron shouting words of betrayal and waiting for them with wands blazing flickered through her mind.

“I did.” He said, then lightly skimmed his finger along her jaw. “It was actually Ron who voiced that I should go.”

“So this is his idea?” Hermione felt herself deflate. This was Harry being Harry... he didn’t fancy her. He was just being his Noble self. And they’d always had a touchy-feely friendship.

“Oh no, I’d already arranged for the polyjuice and portkey ticket before I’d mentioned it to them. But when I’d began talking, he pulled me aside and told me he knew. That he’d always known but now was truly at peace with it. That it was ok.”

“What was ok?”

“That I come with you.”

“Well, that was bloody gracious of him.” Spat Hermione and felt Harry tense.

“Fuck. I’m messing this all up. Look, Hermione, he knows how I, well...” Hermione felt herself shifted away from his chest, apparently so he could gaze at her properly. “Bugger, I wish I wasn’t wearing this bloke's face. It’s hard enough...”

“Harry, what the heck are you talking about.” Hermione asked though she desperately hoped it was what she now thought.

“I fancy the pants off you Hermione, and the thought of you being in another country, across the world from me at Christmas... dealing with all that you probably will be on your own... well, I just.. I couldn’t just leave you.”

“You fancy me?” Hermione hasn’t stopped gazing into Harry’s eyes; it was definitely disconcerting having this conversation with a nameless muggle face. 

“Completely nutters for you.” Hardy smiled. “Have been for ages. It was a mistake to pick up with Ginny after the war. I felt everyone expected it, and with what Ron had gone through with the locket, and then your kiss... well, it just seemed best if I left things as they were. Nothing ventured, nothing destroyed and all that.”

“I’m not sure that’s the quote—“

“Really? Out of all that the first thing you say is about the quote?”

Hermione laughed. “If you fancy the pants off me, then that really shouldn’t come as a surprise.” 

“I thought it was just me.” Hermione said. “After Ron and I.. well—“

“Imploded?” 

“In not so nice terms, yeah. After we stopped being a couple and began going back to us before all the weirdness of dating, I found myself reflecting. For the first time since I was eleven, I felt I could breathe. Make my own decisions, think my own thoughts. And not worry about death hanging over my head.”

“You summed it up perfectly, as usual.” Said Harry. “That’s how I felt too.”

“Like coming out of a fog.” 

Harry nodded.

“I realised that I had buried so many things, for so long, to not hurt those I love. Like Ginny, who’d pined for you since what seemed like forever. And Ron, who I thought our chemistry came from our rows.”

“Not really a healthy way to approach it,” said Harry, and Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“Right, oh Chosen One. Like someone didn’t entertain the notion of fame getting them into girl's knickers.” 

“Hush you, that was one conversation of thought which you literally beat out of me with a library book.” 

They were smiling at each other, their hands having drifted closer toward the other as they’d talked. 

“Besides, there’s only one pair of knickers I want into these days—“

“Just one pair?” Hermione asked with feigned innocence.

“Cheeky witch.” Harry said. 

Bending his head down, Hermione felt his lips graze her neck as air tickled her earlobe.

“When I’m back to myself, we are having another form of this conversation.” He whispered in her ear, causing shivers to run down her spine and goosebumps to appear on her arms.

“Since when does Harry Potter have such confidence with witches?” Hermione teased.

“Since a few moments ago, when I learned the brightest witch of our age fancies me back.” Harry said, hugging her back into his side. His hand ghosted over her hair, her face, her arm, holding her as if she were the most precious person to him.

HGHPHGHPHGHPHGHP

“Merry Christmas mum. Dad. I’m so thankful I can share this day with you again.” Hermione whispered, tears clouding her eyes. 

A freak accident. 

A drunk driver ran a stop sign, ploughing into their car.

“Take all the time you need dear.” The nurse said, before exiting the room and pulling the door closed behind her.

Helen and Roger Granger had been declared brain dead upon arrival to hospital, though until next of kin were found and notified they were on life support in a room together. 

It was only by chance that Hermione had arrived the day after it happened. 

The Australian ministry had already located her parents based on the information she’d passed on to Kingsley, who had passed it along confidential international channels.

They’d secured a renowned memory specialist to assist in the reversal of the spells Hermione had cast the previous year. Everything was in place and ready for Hermione to arrive to put the plans in motion.

When they’d arrived Down Under and been told the news, Hermione’s knees had buckled. It was only Harry’s strength that kept her upright. 

The Ministry helped with all necessary charms and paperwork to ensure the hospital allowed her the privileges she rightfully deserved; the privileges of next of kin.

“They had no one.” Hermione had sobbed into Harry’s chest as they’d waited for the formalities to be wrapped up before she could go into their room. “They had no siblings, both their parents had passed, and they didn’t even remember they had a daughter!”

Harry had soothed her as best he could, silently absorbing her grief while planning how he could make the driver—who’d walked away with nothing but a scratch on his chin and a broken tooth—pay.

He'd ask Kreacher; that elf had creative ideas that teetered on the line between dark and light. If anyone deserved the elf’s creative focus, it was the driver.

Now seated between their beds, holding their hands, they’d inadvertently granted Hermione her wish. The wish of spending Christmas with her parents. 

“I’m so sorry.” She sobbed. “I just wanted to keep you safe. I... I love you. So so much. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything—“ she cut off, the words too thick, too heavy to pass through her lips. 

“Do you think a magical Australian hospital, or St. Mungos would be able to...” she’d asked, but the apologetic pity she’d seen on the ministry healers faces had put an end to that line of thought.

“Mom, dad. You’ll get to meet Harry’s parents. I’ve told you so much about him already, but I haven’t told you nearly enough. He won, we won... not that it matters now, here... he’s with me, he came across the globe to be here with me.”

Hermione felt Harry squeeze her shoulder, his unending support her present lifeline.

“Their names are Lily and James. I think you’ll like them. And you’ll meet... Remus, and Sirius... and oh god. I can’t-“

It was hours later when Hermione said her final words, her last goodbyes before signing the donor card allowing their deaths to bring the chance of life to others.

“I’ve sent word to the Burrow.” Harry murmured as they walked out of the hospital. 

It seemed cruel to Hermione that the sun could shine on such a day. That it wasn’t raining in sympathy. Storming as she felt like doing.

“Oh.” Was all Hermione could muster.

“They’re ready for whatever you need. Space, smothering, food... whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Harry.” Hermione said, and let his presence, his strength, carry her through the rest of her time in Australia.

HGHPHGHPHGHPHGHP

“Merry Christmas, one and all!”

Cheers of “Here here,” echoed around the table which was fit to bursting with the hodgepodge of friends, family and precious foe.

If you’d asked Hermione the previous year what she’d be doing the following Christmas, she’d have told you to fuck off before burying her head under either her pillow or work.

Now, nestled in happily beside Harry, Hermione took stock around her. Of those present and those missing, but never forgotten. 

There were the younger set of couples—Ron and Luna, Ginny and Dean, herself and Harry. There was George and Angelina, Percy and Audrey. 

Charlie was flying solo as usual. Thankfully Molly had stopped pestering him about bringing someone home and so now they saw a lot more of the Dragon Wrangler. 

Apparently his Ace of Hearts tattoo on his shoulder meant something more than an affinity for poker. Or so Bill had intimated to them all after he’d gone out for a welcome home drink with his brother. It had relieved Charlie to have that bloody conversation finally put to rest.

Andromeda had reacquainted with her sister after the war, and because of Teddy, the Weasleys and the Malfoys slowly buried the hatchet. 

There was too much blood spilled between Lucius and the Weasleys, Hermione and Harry for him to ever feel welcome. But Narcissa, Draco, and Draco’s partner Dimitri were now a welcome addition to any gathering. 

There was Teddy, and little by Victoire.

New hope; new life.

Hermione would always carry a space for her parents in her heart, would always feel the weight of guilt from removing herself from their lives without their consent. 

But time and love had a way of smoothing the jagged edges of her grief. 

“Merry Christmas, my love,” she whispered to the wizard beside her. “I’m so glad you chose to follow me that day.”

“You’re my chosen one,” Harry said, then smirked as Hermione mimicked gagging.

“Too sappy?”

“Soooo corny.” She laughed softly.

“I love you.” Harry said seriously, engulfing her hand with his. “And I look forward to sharing all our future Christmases together, come what may.”

“Come what May.” Hermione repeated, leaning in and joining her lips to his amidst catcalls and heckles from those around them.

She knew together they’d be strong enough to face whatever the future held.


End file.
